


Bloodbriar

by stateofintegrity



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Drugged Sex, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26028664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stateofintegrity/pseuds/stateofintegrity
Summary: Two versions of the same story: an old science fiction trope where sex is a cure.
Relationships: Maxwell Klinger/Charles Emerson Winchester III
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	1. Max

**Author's Note:**

> This one is more explicit than usual, could be considered dubious consent, and contains period typical issues like racism. These things are not intended to represent real or historical folks - I just wanted to play with a trope outside it’s given genre.

It had been months since he’d slept comfortably, so he resisted the insistent sound tugging him back toward wakefulness. Maybe, some hopeful part of his brain thought, it will go away.

It didn’t.

Sitting up, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom of the autumn night and reflected that this trip was just the latest incarnation of his rotten luck while in Asia. Not only had he been exiled to a MASH (where the operating room resembled a meat-packing plant), he’d then been tapped as the surgeon best suited for demonstrating the surgical techniques they’d (of necessity) developed to save the men under their care. He had no sooner learned the layout of the 4077th than he’d been sent to some tiny mountain hamlet where another MASH was headquartered... or where it _had_ been until yesterday. The fighting shifted, the surgical unit decamped, and a frustrated Winchester had awarded himself a day of leave, deciding that neither he nor his driver should have to face the unreliable mountain roads in the dark.

Now he wasn’t even going to be permitted to enjoy this perfectly comfortable bed because next door someone was... what? He couldn’t place the low, ceaseless sound. He thought about banging on the wall, but, being halfway up already, he donned his robe and stepped into the hallway.

Upon further investigation, the sound seemed to be coming from Klinger’s room. “So help me,” Winchester muttered under his breath, “if you have awakened me, Corporal, with some kind of debauched night play...” He knocked on the door. “Klinger?”

The sound that had awakened him cut out.

What replaced it was a series of slow shuffling and banging sounds. 

The man who opened the door, holding to the frame to keep himself upright, bore little resemblance to the sunny, capable Corporal who had driven Charles to this out of the way place. “Are you drunk?”

It was the first thing he could think of, but he knew this hunch was incorrect before the words left his lips. Even in the dim light, his surgeon’s eyes were assessing and something inside of him was saying: _ wrong, wrong, wrong _ .

“I’m fine, Major.” The words came out haltingly - Klinger was visibly  _ hurting _ \- and even half asleep Winchester found it in himself to respect the bravado.

“You aren’t, Corporal. Move.”

“Major, really,”

Reading his body rather than listening, Winchester reached out to move him aside, then actually hissed as he encountered skin hot enough to startle, if not to actually burn. He saw Klinger’s eyes change in that moment; the Corporal knew that  _ he _ knew that something was very wrong - and for some reason this terrified him. Bullying his way inside, Winchester laid the back of his hand to the man’s forehead. 1 _ 03\. That means a virus, most likely. Blood infection, maybe. But that would mean an untreated wound. What have you done to yourself, Klinger _ ?

Inside the room, he flicked on the light for a better look at whatever it was that was afflicting the man serving as his corpsman. Klinger’s shirt clung patchily, blotched with sweat; his hair was soaked. Winchester looked again. He was shaking.

_ Not just a fever. A fever that rises and breaks _ . That made a virus all the more likely. Which made him all the more agitated.

“Corporal, I can see that your evening hasn’t gone as planned.” When they’d parted ways after dinner, Klinger had gone to seek a game of dice. “But unless you’ve received a head injury in the past five hours, you’ve no excuse for not reporting this. Good God, man! Did you forget what profession I’m in?”

“I can handle it, Major. Honest, it’s not that bad.” That strange fear still shone in his dark eyes.

“Klinger, you woke me up because  _ you were moaning in pain. _ You’re gripping that chair arm tight enough to put our security deposit in jeopardy and you’ve lost an earring along the way. Either tell me what happened here and now, or I will examine you so thoroughly it will make your army intake physical seem like a pleasant use of an afternoon.”

Klinger actually looked, Winchester reflected, trapped. He shook his head as if in doing so he could terminate the situation he’d found himself in. “You wouldn’t do that, sir.”

“Try me.”

“Please, Major...”

It was apparently to be a night of firsts. He’d never heard Klinger plead, and it bothered him that the man could imagine the situation bad enough that he needed to do so. “I’ve never heard you sound like that. Am I really so frightening? Would you sound the same if I were Hunnicutt or Pierce?”

Klinger looked at him wonderingly. Maybe he’d never pleaded with the Major, but Winchester had never sounded like  _ that  _ either. He was practically coaxing him! Stranger still, he sounded almost hurt that Klinger would regard him differently than the other surgeons!

“It’s... embarrassing, Major.”

It was at that moment that Klinger remembered that fevers sometimes caused hallucinations, because it seemed like he might be having one. The highborn Bostonian reached out and took his hand, actually tangling his sweat-cold fingers with his. “You’re safe. I am your friend, Maxwell. Tell me and let me help you.”

Well, shit. He couldn’t decline now - not with the great, untouchable surgeon stepping down from his pedestal. But, even hurting, he couldn’t resist the quip that rose in him. “Major, if Hawkeye saw this, he’d have to completely overhaul all those cracks about your bedside manner.”

Charles tightened his grip for a moment in a warning squeeze. “Don’t stall, Corporal.”

Haltingly, in obvious pain, Klinger laid out the details of his evening and the events that had led to him curling up on his floor, moaning.

Charles assumed the perfect “listening physician” pose. He didn’t react and he didn’t interrupt.

“Let me make sure I understand,” he said when the Corporal had finished. “You turned down this lady of the evening.”

Klinger nodded.

“And, being offended, she scratched you?”

“Yes.” He bared his arm, showing the mark. Winchester was eager for a closer look, but, for now, just absorbed the fact that the mark was a synthetic orchid color - unnatural. “I swear I wasn’t trying to be rude, sir. But she said I’d miss her later. Then she said a Korean word too.” He did his best to pronounce it.

Winchester closed his eyes. There were plenty of Koreans who weren’t delighted with the Western presence in their land. But retaliation via poison? It was a stretch... but not impossible.

“I need to find some answers,” said the Major. “And you need to get warmed up. Can you manage a shower?”

Klinger’s lips were pressed white, determined. “Sure thing.”

But as he crossed the room, Winchester saw that he was still in terrible pain. Worry scrunching his brow, he lifted the phone.

***

The notepad provided by the tiny inn had, Charles suspected, never been covered in notes like these before.

The word ‘bloodbriar’ topped the page, a rough translation of a chemical compound in use for four thousand years. 

‘Aphrodisiac,’ the notes began. Followed by: ‘secondary stimulation recommended.’ The words ‘permanent damage’ had been circled.

Charles rested his head in his hands and wished for someone to take this burden from him.

***

If Charles was worried before, he shot past mid-level anxiety right into alarm when the Corporal reemerged. “Klinger,  _ what  _ are you wearing?”

“I really don’t know, sir.”

Klinger  _ always _ knew. Ask him and you could find yourself in the middle of diatribe about mail-order lingerie, rhinestone shoe straps, or earring backs. This was worse than he’d imagined. Given what Pierce and Hunnicutt had just told him, that was really saying something. 

The younger man braced himself, wincing, against a chair… and Charles winced too, because he knew where he was hurting. “What did you find out, sir?”

_ Nothing you’re going to appreciate hearing _ . The physician took a deep breath. He’d delivered difficult diagnoses before. But those were patients. This was Klinger. Klinger who’d trusted him when he’d offered his hand. Klinger who was still scared. Klinger who was probably the only real friend he had in Asia. So, Winchester got it out quick.

It wasn’t quick enough, though; halfway through, Klinger started shaking again. Winchester really hoped he was just chilled.  _ If you are this bloody frightened of me, this is never going to work. _

“Klinger, I can try to find someone else. But you understand that we are playing against the clock, correct? It’s already been several hours. And I am a physician.” It wasn’t precisely the kind of situation that called for clinical distance, but maybe it would comfort him?

Klinger swallowed hard. “Sir, is there any chance your research could be wrong?”

Charles hated crushing his hopes. “I called Pierce.” When Klinger looked stricken at this, Charles made a conciliatory gesture. “I told him the MASH here was experiencing problems with a local poison. I left your name quite out of it.”

“Thank you.”

It felt a little underhanded, but Charles decided that gratitude could make a fine springboard. “Klinger, I can well imagine that finding yourself in this situation with me is one of the very last things you could ever desire. I am sorry.”

Klinger’s eyes went wide. “What are you apologizing for, sir? You didn’t do anything wrong!”

“P’raps not, but you understood what I told you.”

“It’s the only way?”

Charles just nodded.

“Okay, then.” He straightened up, faced it head on, and broke Charles’ heart all at the same time. “Sorry you hafta take care of me, sir.” 

Charles reassured him, even as he privately hoped that he could do what was needed in time. They moved to the bed on Charles' recommendation. “Talk to me,” he told the Corporal. “Tell me what is effective.” He attempted a bit of humor, “You won’t offend me.”

“That’s a relief. I don’t think I could stand to offend anyone else today, sir.”

Max’s dark hair was still wet from the shower; a drop of water slid down his throat. Charles watched it, unintentionally fascinated. Brushing his hair back from his face, he thought of one part of the body that fell under the secondary stimulation category. “I’m going to kiss you now, Corporal.”

Klinger laughed weakly at this very formal declaration. That laughter was reassuring; he felt more than just pain, anyway. “I didn’t want you to be frightened,” Charles explained.

“I think I’m hurting too bad to be scared,” Klinger confided. 

Charles had told him things might get worse before they got better. The chemical pumping through his veins was, in small doses, an aphrodisiac that stimulated some parts of the body, delaying release. If that release didn’t come, however, sensitive tissues could be damaged, resulting in the inability to have an erection and infertility. It was those effects the physician intended to prevent… using himself as the antidote.  _ I will  _ **_not_ ** _ be writing this one up for a medical journal… or Playboy, for that matter _ . 

Feeling like a schoolboy fumbling in the back of a car, Charles joined their mouths. Klinger’s skin was still much too hot to the touch. But his mouth...  _ Oh, you are a sweet little thing _ . The thought shocked him right into a mental reprimand.  _ You are supposed to be  _ **_helping_ ** , he reminded himself. But approximately four seconds after Charles remembered how to kiss, Klinger began to moan. It was the most guileless sound Charles had ever heard and though he’d undertaken this cure as a physician, that sound stirred him.  _ You did tell him to talk to you _ .

As much as Winchester wanted to deepen the kiss, he forced himself to maintain the role of caretaker. Drawing back, he rested his head on Klinger’s shoulder.  _ You trust me _ , thought Charles,  _ too much, perhaps _ . Which was kind of an aphrodisiac of its own (and conveniently not the sort that could cause harm); Charles liked few things as well as he liked being valued for his expertise. 

That expertise was failing him, now, though. He simultaneously wanted to wrap Klinger up and to undress him.  _ Are you shivering or trembling _ ?  _ Is this helping _ ? He trailed his fingers over the Corporal’s throat and over his sides. Against his fever, Klinger was bundled into an oversized sweater the color of Indian paintbrush and velvety breeches that looked meant for horseback riding. If he had been well, chunky coral accessories would have completed this ensemble. 

“Tell me how you liked to be touched.” 

It seemed like a small request. 

“I don’t know.”

“Klinger, I know it isn’t  _ me _ you’d have touch you, that goes without saying. Pretend I am whoever you want. Someone lovely creature from Toledo, even. But you can’t be embarrassed to guide me. Help me get this right.”

“That’s not what I mean, Major. I really don’t know.”

Charles’ brilliant mind was capable of many fantastic things. Confronted with especially harsh realities, it liked to throw up beautiful barriers, but this time it just wasn’t quite quick enough. 

“Klinger, how old are you?” It seemed odd, in that moment that he knew, now, the taste of his mouth but not his age. 

“Twenty-three.” 

“And you’ve never been with anyone?” 

Klinger shrugged. “I was engaged when I left for basic… you know all about how that went. There hasn’t been anyone here.”

Charles silently wished for a heart attack or a fainting fit, a spontaneous indoor bolt of lightning. Anything to remove him from this intimate comedy of errors. It was one thing to try to help his drugged friend and corpsman- even if such help necessitated a level of intimacy he had gone without for months. It was quite another to  _ deflower  _ said friend, knowing this first time was going to be forever associated with pain and undesired companionship. It wasn’t as bad as forcing the young man, but it was close. 

Cursing Korea and bloodbriar and the draft board that had sent him, he gathered the fevered creature before him into his arms and pressed his face into his neck. He would have wept if it would have helped, but he just held on, feeling Klinger lose some of his stiffness and fear under his touch. “I am so sorry,” he said at last. “You deserve better. A good meal, the sweet anticipation… shared smiles over breakfast the next morning. I’m sorry I cannot give you that.” 

Klinger surprised him by laughing again despite his pain. “I think the situation merits taking a rain check on rose petals in the sheets, Major. Was it that nice for you - your first time?”

Usually a question this intimate would have irritated Winchester, but given Klinger’s vulnerable state, he couldn’t deny him. “Heavens, no. It was quick and messy and I never heard from the other party again… but I was young and foolish - and you have a better heart than me, so you deserve better than I had… and better than I can give you.”

“I don’t think it will matter, Major. I just want to stop hurting.” 

That galvanized him; he was a brilliant physician. And there was a time element to contend with. He reached beneath the knitted fabric of the sweater to stroke fevered skin, making the Corporal’s nipples peak. Charles could feel how very hard he was. He kissed his throat, ignoring fever and thrashing pulse alike in an effort to win a sound of pleasure. Klinger’s head rolled back and forth as he moved over him, as he slipped his fingers beneath his waistband. 

Klinger’s hips went up and down hungrily. Charles kissed between his legs, feeling the heat of him through his pants. He wanted those pants off, but with a high fever, Klinger was apt to get very cold, very fast.  _ This will look silly, but no one’s dignity is coming out of this trip undented. I will settle for him being capable of normal functioning.  _

“Klinger, I imagine the army has rather taken the fun out of tents, but, did you ever build a blanket fort when you were a kid?” 

He was hurting badly enough that he had to think about it. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Honoria and I used to cover the piano with blankets and crawl beneath it. You and I are going to do something similar so that you do not freeze.” Klinger made as if to sit up and Charles motioned him down. “I have this. Honoria is not here to support my claim, but she would tell you that I am a talented architect of the fluffy fort.”

This got Klinger to look a little less terrified, anyway, so Charles counted it a win. Soon they were relocated in a nest of blankets under an impromptu tent. Charles took his aching comrade back into his arms. Medically, he knew exactly what to do. There was no mystery when it came to secondary erogenous zones; though they might differ, slightly person to person, he knew  _ where _ they ought to be. And Klinger was - as always - wide open, even though he was afraid. 

“It is a nice tent,” he joked and Charles hated how unlike himself he sounded, hated that he’d wrestled this thing for hours before he’d even known. 

“I know that you would prefer your tent with your incredible creations surrounding you, and I will get you there as soon as I can. Until then, thank you, Max, for trusting me. I… I am often brusque with you and you have never been anything but kind to me.”  _ I will try to be worthy of it now.  _

“‘Course I trust you, Major. And it’s not just cause of Harvard or Boston General- it’s cause, well, you’re  _ you _ , I guess. And you’re not unkind. I’ll tell you a secret since you’re gonna know all mine real quick anyway - when you try it, yelling or snapping or whatever, it doesn’t get to your eyes. They give you away every time.” 

Winchester held his eyes as he worked, hoping Klinger could see in them how very much he wanted to help, how much he wanted his suffering to end. What he saw was that the Corporal was too thin and too fevered. 

And as far as secondary erogenous zones went, Klinger was an unexpected delight; he responded to the scrape of Winchester’s nails on his scalp, the feel of his lips on his neck, kisses on his inner wrists, the flick of a tongue against the ridge of his hips… 

Winchester tried not to think it, but if the situation had been less dire, he might have enjoyed slowly mapping the young man for  _ hours _ . The good news was that he was having an effect with all of these gentle touches. The bad news was that he knew it would be incredibly difficult to bring Klinger off with these minor attentions alone. 

_ Well, welcome to the majors, Corporal,  _ he thought, knowing that he needed to shift gears, hands settling at the younger man’s waist and revealing everything. He didn’t look Klinger in the eye as he dampened him with his mouth, as he kept one hand on his stomach to keep him in place. Abdomen drawn tight, Klinger sat up to watch as he replaced his mouth with his hands. 

Charles wrung sounds from him that were so rapturously saturated with decadence they felt performed; Klinger’s entire vocal range was on display for him and he scaled up and down it as pleasure swept through him. But when Charles glanced up, tears were running down his cheeks. Acting on instinct, he dragged Klinger tight against him, took him into his arms, smoothed his hair, rubbed over his shaking back. “Darling, what is it? Did I hurt you? Frighten you?” 

Klinger felt as addled then by the endearment as by fever and by pain; Charles sounded (impossibly) like he  _ meant it _ . Was the Major that good of an actor? “No,” though he  _ was  _ hurting. “I just… I can’t…” 

Charles pressed kisses to his forehead, his nose. “You will.”

Klinger laughed through his tears, overwhelmed. “Because you’re such a brilliant doctor?”

“Precisely. Trust me just a little farther, yes?” 

Klinger nodded. But then, “Hurry?” 

Charles did - and he swore on every note of every symphony he had ever loved that Klinger would  _ never  _ feel ashamed at what he was allowing him to do… and he would also never know how beautiful Charles found him as he opened him. 

When he had found what he wanted (search made easier thanks to the medical bag he carried) he curled his fingers slightly, brushed that spot, making Maxwell twist at the waist. What that sight did to  _ him _ … Charles wasn’t going to need the stuff from his kit bag to get ready. He hadn’t really believed he would feel more than just counterfeit arousal during this act - physical response with nothing behind it. He had been very wrong. 

_ I wish you were mine _ , the physician thought without meaning to.  _ Then I could tell you just what the vision of you with my fingers inside you is doing to me.  _

“I think…” Klinger panted, found enough air to speak, pushed back against him. “I think this could work, Major.” 

Charles very much intended that it should. But there were things that were meant to be experienced to the very hilt. Using the hand he still had free, he did away with his pants, gripped himself, and lined them up. Easing his fingers out, he closed his eyes, sweat starting at his temples, and gave himself over to the slow, insistent motions that would take him inside. 

It was like being drugged.

The thought, the sensation, wasn’t the least bit humorous given their situation… but it was true. As if under the power of some chemical imperative, Charles  _ had  _ to keep going, had to become buried in the heat of his friend’s perfect body; he also had to try  _ very hard  _ not to climax as soon as he was inside Max. 

_ The poison _ ? some part of him asked. 

_ Don’t be idiotic!  _ he snapped back at this rogue facet of himself.  _ You are a  _ **_doctor_ ** _. A blood-borne poison cannot be transmitted in this manner! You’re not drugged, you’re, you’re… out of practice is all. Overwhelmed a bit. Emotional. After this is … ended … you will find a more regular form of release.  _

But it felt nothing like mere healing as he rammed into the young body doing everything it could to get close to him. Klinger’s clutching hands - strong, overwarm - sought purchase at his back, caressed his neck, held him closer, dragged him on.  _ Are you okay _ ? Winchester asked with his eyes and Max nodded, sweaty hair flopping as he met every thrust. The legs resting on his shoulders shook; Max’s stomach trembled… his teeth might even have clattered together. 

“I think… I think you’d better kiss me, Major, if you don’t want everyone in this place to hear me scream.” 

Charles covered his mouth, swallowed his screams, and rejoiced at the wet heat that covered him.  _ Safe _ .  _ Darling, you’re going to be okay.  _

Still wrapped around him, literally stuck to him, Klinger let his head go back. He’d used up his screams, but he moaned softly, trembled, still. “Maxwell? Are you quite alright?” 

Max flashed him a thumb’s up - eyes closed. Wrecked.

“Max… can I keep on a moment? This is killing me.” 

“I know the feeling. Go for it.” 

And when the end came, tears ran down  _ his  _ face. Charles didn’t let Maxwell see them - the man had been through enough - but he was tender as he cleaned and dressed him, Klinger kitten-limp in his arms, fever still up. “I can go back to my room, Major,” he mumbled. 

“No. I want to keep an eye on you. Just try to rest, Max.” He smoothed the man’s dark hair back.  _ You will never be mine as you are in this moment, darling. I touched you to help you… now how do I let go?  _

In the bed, he tucked Klinger in close against him, head on his chest and stroked down the fever-warm length of him until he fell asleep. 

Charles stayed awake just to hold him, smiling when the fever left him, kissing him quiet when his dreams made him restless, signing his initials -longingly - on the inside of his wrist. 

***

Winchester luxuriated into wakefulness. The room was cool but the bed was warm and soft and his bloodstream seemed to be carrying rafts of golden glitter; he sparkled with good feeling. 

Then he remembered why and clenched his eyes tight, fighting guilt. 

_ I had to _ . 

  
_ I had to help him.  _

_ And yes, perhaps,  _ and he full-body shivered at the thought,  _ I was the unintentional architect of his deflowering… but he took my whole damn heart in the process. Surely that makes us even?!? _

“Major, shut up,” Klinger mumbled, burrowing into his side. “ ‘ss not even six and this place doesn’t even wake you up with bugles.” 

“I, ah,” Charles fought hard not to wrap him in his arms, not to stroke his sleep-tousled hair. “I didn’t say anything, Max.”  _ My brave love, my sweet girl… and not mine at all…  _ His heart apparently wanted to call the Corporal a lot of pet names he’d forgotten to use last night… and now he was worried, too. Who was going to accept Max the way he did? All facets? All fashions? Who would treasure him when he got cheeky and demanding in fatigues? Who would worship him in rhinestones as he peered, demure and gentle, from behind a fan? 

“Right,” Klinger’s voice was muffled where he’d tucked into Winchester’s side, warmth-chasing. “But I can hear you thinking a bunch of crazy stuff. So  _ stop _ .”

“Do all 4077 clerks develop telepathy? Your fever must be down if you are back to ordering me about.” 

“Not mind reading, Major. I just know  _ you _ .” He peeked out to smile at him, bright mischief and dark eyes. “Better after last night, even. So, quit worrying, huh?” 

There was absolutely no way that Charles could let this go - and Klinger knew it. Dragging the younger, slighter man into a position from which he could search his eyes, Charles narrowly avoided shaking him silly. “Maxwell, are you  _ flirting with me _ ?”

Klinger lifted his hips, let him feel everything. “Not if you don’t want me to. But you’re responsible for this, aren’t you, Major? I mean, really, any erection I get from here on out - it’s cause you made it so I could, right?”

“I suppose that is technically correct.”

“Well, if you’re the one responsible, shouldn’t you get to enjoy your work?” He batted his eyelashes. He actually goddamn  _ batted his eyelashes. _ And it made Charles’ stomach tremble. “Dr. Winchester?” 

“You little minx,” he swore, admiration coloring the words. 

“ _ Your _ little minx?” 

Charles gave up and ground against him. “My _everything,_ ” he promised. “My darling Corporal. My sweet girl in lace. My pet who kitten-licks the head of my cock so that I can give it to her so sweetly. My man.” 

Klinger gave a breathy, scandalized moan, confessed, “I wanted you way before last night, Major.” 

Charles nipped at his neck, licked at his ears, vowing to put real diamonds in the earring holes there. Real emeralds, too, for the green of Boston common, honey-spill topaz to shine like daisy centers against Klinger’s dark hair… “When?” he growled. “Tell me when, sweetness.” 

“Oh, you know,” Klinger twisted his head under the ferocity of those claiming kisses. “The day you showed up. You shoulda been in my tent that night, handsome. I renamed my favorite pillow for you on the spot… and I came three times before reveille.” 

“I wish I had been invited. We could have made it a nice even six.”

“There’s that Winchester spirit.” 

“You know, my darling Max, you might have clued me in to these tender feelings of yours  _ before _ I, very guiltily, I might add, ah,” 

“Took my virginity?”

Charles collapsed against him. “That…” he said weakly, “Yes.”

Klinger stroked his hair. “You coulda had it anytime, Major. I wasn’t using it.”

Charles just moaned. 

Enjoying the unexpected potency of his words, Klinger continued to pet him. “Maybe I shoulda tossed it in the pot for one of our poker nights. Just think, you coulda scooped me up and carried me off with your winnings.” 

“Maxwell, you menace in suede, I, first, would have threatened every other player with death by scalpel to keep their greedy hands off of you. I then would have lifted you up, placed you there among the winnings and had my way with you to both celebrate my victory and teach you prudence.” 

It was Klinger’s turn to moan. “Good thinking, sir. If you, uh, ever want to act that one out, you know, just to see…” 

“I imagine it will be only one in a host of such games, my sweet.” He kissed his ear, whispered, “You would, ah, play the game to its conclusion, I trust?” 

“You mean act like it’s the first time? Sure thing. The way I figure it, it  _ will  _ be my first time on a poker table.” 

Charles cupped his chin, kissed him with true tenderness. “Why didn’t you tell me? Last night?” 

“Too sick. Too embarrassed and scared. And I never thought you’d want someone like me.” 

“I must have done something to change your mind.”  _ Thank God.  _

“Oh, yeah.” He closed his eyes, remembering. “A lot of somethings, really, but mostly it was the way you looked at me. Like you wanted to keep me safe and high up, away from everything. Like you woulda hurt  _ for me _ if it kept me from hurting. You look like that when you talk about art or music… I knew I had to be something special to you to get your eyes looking that way.”

“You are something special quite apart from me or my admiration, but I do love you. How could I not?” 

“I’m not sure how you  _ can _ to be honest, but I won’t try to talk you out of it.”

“You would not succeed.” He held him close. “How are you feeling?” 

Assuring Charles that he was well, Klinger submitted to a line of detailed medical inquiry. 

“I wish you had confided in me sooner,” Charles confessed. “I am sorry for all you endured.” 

“I, uh, I always want to be my best around you, Major. It doesn’t work much, but I thought maybe I could handle it and keep you from seeing me like that. I’m usually good with people. Good enough not to get hurt, anyway.” 

“Max, I have been unkind to you, perhaps, I see now, as a way to push my own feelings for you away… but I wish to see you, and always will, in any form or guise, mood or attitude. That is love as best I understand it.”

Klinger stroked his cheek. “Sounds like. But if you really feel that way, it just makes me want to be the best for you even more.” 

Winchester realized, then, that this was not a new ambition. “The correspondence course? Vocabulary and literature?” 

Klinger nodded, shyer, somehow than he’d been when Charles had undressed him. “I wanted to understand all the things you say better,” he said, eyes averted. “I, uh, I like the way you talk.” 

Charles quietly thrilled to this. Beacon Hill possessed a fine library. “I will teach you,” he promised. “Anything you wish to know.” 

Klinger’s fretful fingers played in the blankets as he admitted, “I tried to show you I could be a real lady for you, sometimes. The tea dresses.” 

Charles lifted his chin. “You were lovely- in the lilac especially, with the blue ribbons. But you needn’t be anything other than yourself, Max. If I had wanted a society girl, I could have married long ago. It seems that the eyes that I have been searching for in every gaze that met mine were, ah, yours. Touching you, Max… it feels like home.” 

“I’ve been trying to get back there this whole crummy war. I guess now I can.” He snuggled against the taller man. 

_ Yes. And at war’s end, beloved, I will take you home for good.  _ For now, he cherished his new love with soft kisses, welcoming him into the new world they made together, showing him all the sweetness he’d wished to show him the night before, until Max turned in his arms to ask, “You think we could get a late start, Major?” 

“You wish to stay? Even after?” 

“Please? I’ll take the blame. Say I got sick… not with, you know, what happened, but with something.”

“No one will exactly be watching the road for us, so I think we can safely delay. But why, darling?”

“It won’t be so easy to hold onto you back at the 4077th, Major. I just want to be close to you for a while longer.” 

“Maxwell, you are denying due credit to us both. With your knack for schemes and my intelligence, we will more than find opportunities to be together. However, I will not naysay this one… and I have a suggestion for increased closeness that I believe you will enjoy.” 

He confided his decadent idea into Klinger’s ear, kissing his neck as he did so.

Klinger froze in his arms. “You’re seriously going to let me?” 

“Yes. I will even do the ah, work, to make it possible if you wish.”

“You don’t have to.” 

_ You’re shaking just thinking of it.  _ “I  _ want _ to, Max. I wish to belong to you in every way that I possibly can.”

“They drugged  _ me _ , right? Not you? Because that sounded like…”

“Oh, it was,” Charles assured him much too casually. “I am a Winchester, Max. The good things we find - we keep.” 

Shaking had become quivering. “ _ Major _ !”

“Charles,” the Major corrected gently. “If you are considering joining your lot with mine, and I will do everything I can to convince you if you are not, then you can say my name.” 

“Charles… I… I thought getting to spend time with you… getting to see you, was a win.” He was overwhelmed. 

“Darling, much as I adore you,  _ you _ are not the victor in this story. I am the lucky one. And I will spend my life proving it to you.”

“In between feats of surgical brilliance and symphonies?” 

“Showing off that course for me, eh?” 

“I don’t want you to love me just for my looks.” 

“Perish the thought. I know how bright you are. I knew from the first time you sparred with me. That night, I wrote Honoria that I had found a companion. Now I will write that I have met my match.” 

Max kissed him for that. He remembered how fun it had been to discover that the handsome, new surgeon (that accent! Those  _ eyes _ !) would engage with him - and that he seemed to really enjoy it! 

Then he looked down at what he was wearing and giggled. “Did you dress me up in your undershirt?” 

“A clean one, yes. You were shivering!” 

“You wanted to see me in it.” 

“Yes.” 

“I guess I should be glad it’s not your initials tattooed around my ankle.”

“Yet.” 

They both burst out laughing - Klinger at how very sexy he found the ridiculous idea, Charles at the immense depths of his possessiveness. 

“Okay, okay, Winchester, I’m yours,” Max teased. “You don’t have to brand me!” 

His thoughts were more on diamond bands than the Winchester seal. “You still haven’t said if you will allow me to be, ah, yours.” 

“I just don’t want you to regret it. Vulnerable isn’t your thing.” 

“With others? Perhaps not. I won’t be afraid, though. Not with you. However, you were ill last night. P’raps it would be better to indulge in gentler pursuits?” 

“Just ‘til nighttime,” Klinger agreed. “I don’t know how crazy I can get with morning birds chirping.” He curled into Winchester, drew the Major down all around him. 

Charles beamed quietly into his shoulder, amused by this unexpected modesty. Charmed, too. After all, he’d been raised in a cloistered world of customs and manners. He could treat his girl right. “Just rest with me, beloved,” he murmured into hair that darkly shined. “We have a lifetime in which to prove all our pleasures.”

And for a lifetime they did. 

End! 


	2. Version two: Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The same story with roles reversed.

“Geez, Major! I leave for ten minutes to get dinner and you get into trouble! Here, lean on me.” 

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Winchester allowed himself to be half led and half dragged by the man who had followed him to this mountain hamlet as a corpsman, only to discover the personnel they’d come to train had bugged out ahead of their arrival. Eventually, Klinger got him back into the inn where they were staying. Charles continued to go in and out as the Corporal cleaned his injured face and felt around for other injuries. 

“Your cash is gone,” the clerk reported, “but your ID’s still here. Guess they figured trying to pass for a serviceman was too risky. They were Chinese, huh?” There had been reports of a rise in such incidents lately. 

“Sounded like,” Winchester confirmed. “You’re good at this.”

“Now I  _ know _ you’re hurt if you’re giving me compliments! Who do you think I learned from?” 

“I don’t recall ever training you in first aid… or anything else.” 

“You didn’t. You trained the nurses and I paid attention. Lucky for you, I might add, because you’re the only doctor in sixty-five miles and your hands are too shaky to be much good.”

It was true - and it wasn’t just his hands. Klinger covered him up, removed his shoes. 

“Happens to plenty of people when they get hurt,” he soothed. “It’s just the shock. It can’t hurt you. Just stay warm and try to rest. I’ll check on you in an hour.”

It was the very prescription Winchester would have given to someone badly battered in an alley fight and Charles did try to follow it… until the pain began. 

***

Charles would never know how Klinger heard the sobs he choked down; maybe he  _ sensed _ them. Nor did he understand how Klinger managed to enter the door he had locked against him. Burning with fever, he went in and out as Klinger bullied him back under the covers and pried the story out of him. Even if he was just a corpsman, Klinger could tell at a glance this was more than shock. There was a purpled mark high on the Major’s arm; it radiated heat. He’d been working for doctors for months; he knew he needed information first - then help. 

Then he got on the phone and Charles learned how very slick he could be. His voice never indicated that a single thing was wrong. 

In fevered agony, the surgeon still said, “That was very well done, Max.” 

“Thanks. Scheming is kind of what I do, sir.”

He gestured at the scrawl. “What did you find out?”

Klinger frowned then. “Nothing you’re gonna want to hear.” But then he went through it in so detached and professional a way that Charles couldn’t help wondering what might have happened if fate had arranged circumstances so that Klinger could have become a doctor. He ended with, “I know it’s not what you want, Major. But I’m here. I’ll help.”

Charles looked horrified; Klinger tried not to take offense. 

“I know. I know,” said the Corporal, trying to soothe him. “But it’s not all bad news, Major. I’m not a stranger so you can talk me through it. You know I can keep a secret.” He didn’t know how much of his phone conversation Winchester had registered, but he really had tried for another solution. There simply wasn’t one. 

Charles had never faced this level of humiliation before. “Please…” he murmured, seeking a reprieve in the face of new and awful knowledge. 

“Major, the only thing I care about is that you’re hurting. And if we don’t fix it, that hurt might do permanent damage. So tell me what to do to convince you. Do you want me to take that do no harm oath? Swear on a Bible?” 

Charles tried to smile, but it did little to chase the pain from his face. “That will not be necessary. I do trust you, Max.”

“Good. Good. You can - I promise.” Klinger thought that the man would have looked braver facing a firing squad. “The Captains said that time matters. The sooner we get down to this, the better. I need your okay though, Major. I don’t know if you need me to say it, but I’ll stop whenever you want me to. I-I’d find somebody else if I could.”  _ Somebody you actually  _ **_wanted_ ** _ to have touch you _ . 

Charles realized how much responsibility had just shifted to the young man’s shoulders. Klinger wasn’t a doctor. He wasn’t even a medic. But he’d known how to get help, had taken detailed instructions, and stood ready to give himself selflessly, without a second’s hesitation.  _ You do impress me, Corporal. _ “It’s alright, Klinger. Secondary stimulation they said?’

“Yes, sir.”

“I know a fair starting place then. Kiss me, Corporal?”

Klinger’s stomach plunged and he didn’t even have enough mental power to scold it.  _ Here goes nothing _ , he thought, joining their mouths. He could feel the heat rising from Charles’ skin - a poison-fueled fever. He had expected Charles to dictate the pace and depth of the kiss, but either pain or exhaustion or their joint machinations put Klinger in charge. The Corporal tried to be cautious, but everything in him knew that this was the only opportunity he’d ever have to memorize that mouth. If he did less, his fantasies wouldn’t thank him for it. Since fantasies were all he’d be left with, he owed them his thoroughness. And the Captains had - laughing, as always - actually mentioned kissing as a remedy. So he pretended this was the personalized fairytale he’d been waiting for his whole life, only drawing back when Charles made a sound that contained more pain than lust. 

“You’re quite good at that,” said the surgeon. 

_ It helps to be completely smitten with the guy you’re kissing _ , Klinger thought. “But you’re still hurting.”  _ A lot.  _

Even in the state he was in, Winchester didn’t easily admit weakness. “Regrettably… yes.” 

“You able to go on?”

“Yes.” Though the thought of  _ where _ it was that they were going frankly terrified him. 

“Feel free to direct me. You’re the doctor, after all. And I’m not going to be offended.”

Charles surprised him when he chuckled. 

“What?” 

Charles then elaborated on how he’d come to have a substance that was part aphrodisiac and part poison flowing through his veins. “I turned the young lady down before I realized she was part of a, ah, larger crew. She also promised not to be offended - no matter how unrefined my requests happened to be.”

Being compared to a crook and a prostitute wasn’t  _ exactly _ the kind of compliment Klinger had been looking for. “Thanks a lot, Major.” 

“You look better in a skirt,” Charles assured him, upon registering that he’d ruffled his feathers. 

“Nice save.” He stroked his fevered brow. “You want me in a skirt now? Maybe it’ll help you pretend.” 

“No.”

Klinger gave him a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Major, really. I know you don’t want  _ me _ at all. Why don’t you close your eyes? I think I know some things to try next.”

Winchester gave him free rein. To do otherwise would have been too tiring. He even phased out for a moment, drifting, only to return to the exquisite eroticism of Klinger sucking his fingers, kissing intimate trails from his fingertips to his wrist. He whimpered. “That’s good, Max. Very good.” It intensified the ache between his legs, but the clinician in him knew that  _ that _ was to the good, too; it meant progress. It meant things below his waist were still functional. 

He opened his eyes to watch the younger man. Klinger was thorough and efficient - dedicated to seeing this through - but he was tender, too. And how had he come up with hands with no direction? Charles had known lovers who had shared his bed for far longer - lovers he’d  _ chosen _ \- that had never figured out that particular desire. He tried to reward the gentle Corporal for his efforts, stroking his cheek. 

Klinger turned his head into the touch in a gesture that was practically feline, smiled for him. “Don’t worry about me, Major.” Then he winked, trying to ease him. “You always said I had a smart mouth.” 

_ This  _ wasn’t precisely the type of cleverness Charles had been referencing… but it felt amazing. It almost, and the physician half-hated himself for the thought, felt worth the throbbing pain that reached up through his abdomen, that made his thighs shake. 

As he watched Klinger, he undid the buttons on his shirt, removing sweaty fabric. Klinger got this cue, too, making Charles think  _ If I ever insult your intelligence again, may the universe see to it that I break at least half of my fingers.  _

Seeing that dark head bent, feeling Klinger kiss down the line of his chest, the Major couldn’t help but wonder: _ Do you feel nothing but a desire to help? Is that possible? Could I ever touch someone in this way without feeling anything for the body beneath my hands?  _ He didn’t believe he could and felt surprisingly grateful that their positions were not reversed. He could endure the humiliation of this tryst, but he had nothing to give in return or repayment. 

Klinger’s mouth was cool against his fevered skin, kissing his chest, his trembling stomach, his thighs. He accepted everything that Charles was - turning from nothing, balking at nothing. Charles wasn’t sure that anyone else he’d taken into his bed had ever been so immediately welcoming of everything he was - and he’d been able to  _ give _ those lovers more than this.   


He was at his  _ worst _ with Klinger - he hadn’t even  _ thanked _ him - but the Corporal was so caring a creature that Winchester’s deficits were somehow swallowed up by his tender touches, the concern in his eyes. It was much more than he deserved, and Charles knew it. He thought of just how often he’d insulted this impromptu savior of his and winced. It was as if Klinger was returning (redeeming?) every unkind word he’d spoken, transforming pain into care. 

The only sounds in the room were the Corporal’s appreciative murmurs as he mapped the long body beneath him; his generosity almost brought Charles to tears. Too often, even with those he had cared for, the proud Major had sought to hide or diminish or downplay the parts of his body that he turned from - that he believed  _ anyone _ would turn from; he had even moved loving hands away from certain places. But here was Klinger - less than a lover but somehow so much more than he’d experienced or enjoyed in  _ so long _ \- and those lock-picking fingers of his were splayed on the softness of his stomach… and now  _ he was kissing in between the splayed fingers!!  _ Charles shook and watched with wonder… and worried that this fever was reducing key areas of his brain to pale ash. 

“Maxwell…” 

Klinger rose up to lay across his chest to hear him better and Charles held him there. The fever would excuse him, wouldn’t it? “Go ahead. Say it, Major. You don’t gotta be scared with me.”

_ I a sure thing, Joe,  _ the woman who had scratched him had said. 

So, it seemed, was Max. Gentle, pretty, infinitely kind Max: Max who was, even now, pressing his lips to his forehead in a way that was perfectly tender and accepting of all he was… even though what he was was, at present, was mostly a mess. “Don’t make me kiss it outta ya, Major,” he teased. 

“I think you must leave my rank out of this, Max.” 

“Just trying to give you some distance.” A wry look moved across his face. “You know, as much as I can.” 

Charles believed him… but then he thought about all the times Klinger had said it. Max didn’t say “Major” to him the way he said “Major” to Margaret or “Captain” to Pierce. It was… friendlier. Almost like an endearment.  _ Or a pet name _ . Winchester pushed the thought aside; the fever was really getting to him. 

“Tell me, Charles,” Klinger said then and Winchester shivered. Maybe Major was the safer course. 

_ I am going to dream about this,  _ Charles thought and knew it was true even if he didn’t want to know it at all.  _ My name in your mouth… your slender form draped over mine, your hair flopped over one eye…  _ And didn’t Max have lovely eyes? It was almost impossible to see the defining edge of the dark pupils against the rich irises.  _ Such a merry blackness…  _

Concern replaced merriment as the man he was trying to care for shivered and ached. Klinger snuggled under his chin and spoke gently, without meeting his eyes, granting him, as he’d promised, all the distance he could. “Don’t be scared, okay?” he finished. 

Charles nodded rapidly; he wanted the pain to end. Embarrassment he would deal with later. He tried to chip in as Klinger removed the last barriers between them, but his fingers were batted away. “Don’t be scared,” Klinger repeated - and then Charles was in his mouth. 

He remembered an obscene bit of poetry from school:  _ I’ve a page does the trick worth forty wenches...  _

Klinger was certainly doing the trick. 

His dark head popped up after several moments. “Any good?”

Charles was dripping sweat and his hips had actually rocked to meet that mouth. “How can you ask that? Have you done this before?”

Klinger thought about scandalizing him with a joke about trying to pay his way through medical school but went for the honest answer. “Some.” 

“Toledo must be a far more liberal city than I imagined.”

Klinger shrugged. “I’ve had partners from both genders. Always figured you fall for the whole person - not just their body. So you think this will be enough? We’re still playing against the clock here.”

“I-I don’t know.” But Charles knew that he didn’t want him to stop. 

“I don’t wanna upset you, Major, but you know what’s left from here, right?” 

“I do.” He could still feel the wet warmth of his mouth. 

“I know how important family is to you, Major. Just get through this with me for that. For Charles Emerson Winchester the fourth.” He sat up, wiped his mouth, and kissed him on the nose - a gesture, Charles knew, that was meant to remind him that he was in the hands of a friend, that Klinger really did want what was best for him. 

“Max…” 

“I can do this,” the Corporal promised. “I haven’t before, but I promise I can, for you.” He stroked his cheek with a heartbreaking tenderness that Charles had not experienced since his boyhood; it was as if he felt that his care could  _ chase _ the fever from him. 

Charles leaned into the touch. 

“That’s it. Close your eyes.” When Charles had, he felt Klinger press his lips to his forehead. “You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” he whispered, startling the other man. It wasn’t flattery. Just as he’d known the Chinese - though their English was broken at best - had been threatening him, he knew that Klinger was telling the truth. When and for what precise reason had the pretty little Corporal been looking at his eyes? 

Then, as if sensing he’d trespassed terribly in a situation that was terrible enough, Klinger returned to his task, eyes flicking up now and then to gauge if he was doing more good than harm. 

Charles was a physician almost before anything else, so he was not disgusted by the preparations Klinger quietly underwent to prevent him from feeling pain. He was  _ in pain _ , however; hot tears slid down his cheeks. Then Klinger’s arms were around him, strong, holding tight, and his head was brought down on his chest where Klinger’s heart beat fast and strong. 

“It’s okay,” he swore. “It’s okay, Major. It’s not your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong. Shh, shh.” 

Charles covered his mouth as if to swallow the words and Klinger kept on, getting out of his clothes, using his fingers; Charles did not want to, but he pushed back into that touch. The heat of him almost burned Klinger; he fought to keep the medical information - dry, matter of fact - foremost in his mind. A quick climax likely wouldn’t be possible. The Captains had joked about the use of the poison as an intense aphrodisiac and said they wouldn’t wish its effects on an enemy, never mind a lover. 

Time, however, wasn’t a luxury he had. He needed to know that Winchester was in and would remain in working order. Once that was accomplished, he could get the fever down… and think about how he was going to confess this to Mulcahy… or maybe Dr. F. It might, after all, be too much to tell their gentle chaplain that while he’d done exactly what the doctors had ordered (shy a hospital), he’d also spent most of the past year really wanting to kiss Charles’ wrists, his mouth. Had the universe somehow heard his desires? Was he a cause (if not the main one) of Winchester’s attack? Should he have done something (anything) else in response? 

Then Charles whimpered. He followed this with a plea that might have been, “Max, hurry,” and Klinger moved to answer. 

The corpsman had to hand it to Winchester; even in the throes of pain, he was a good physician, guiding him into the position from which he could do the most good… then urging him to a punishing pace. 

_ This will work _ . They both realized it at the same moment. It was going to be enough. With Charles calling him on, Klinger gave him everything he had, breath sobbing out of his throat. He wanted to speak, to tell the man how beautiful he was, how glad he was that he was going to get free of the thorns of this thing, but it was hard just to breathe, especially when the end came. 

Charles jerked under him once, twice, and then he did something Klinger would remember forever. He called for him by name in a lover’s voice and sank down, trembling. 

Still achingly hard, Klinger withdrew with a whine and cleaned him, warmed him, got him to take medicine for the fever. It was hard to look him in the eyes, even dressed, but the Corporal couldn’t help but feel proud, too. Charles might not feel completely well (his dignity was probably dented for sure) but together they’d staved off the worst outcome. 

Klinger showered, so overwrought by what had just occurred that warm tears slid down his face to mingle with the warm water. Then he laid down on the floor beside Winchester’s bed, determined to be nearby in case the poison presented any after effects. Charles was already snoring. 

The next morning, Charles nearly stepped on the man before cursing, missing him, and falling back onto the bed with a thump. “Damn it, Corporal! What are you doing?” 

Klinger woke in a flash and looked up, wide-eyed. “I was making sure you were okay. You sure sound back to your old self.” Then, quietly, “That the way you want to play this, sir? I’m fine pretending nothing happened, but I want your word as a doctor that you really are okay. We don’t have to talk about it ever again after, but look me in the eyes and tell me you’re okay.” 

Charles sighed. “Get up here.” 

Klinger stood and sat beside him on the bed at a respectful distance. 

“Forgive me. I… I,”

“Don’t worry about it. We all have our pride, sir.” He looked up, caught his eyes. “You are okay, though? You’ll be okay?” 

“Yes, thanks to you.”

Klinger ignored this. “If you are, I just need my orders, sir. Back to the 4077th today?” 

This facade of professionalism made it all easier. Winchester laid out their itinerary, explaining that he would report their misadventure to the Colonel (in as broad of strokes as he could) - and one more thing. “I will do what I can to get you the section eight you have been seeking.”

Klinger tried to protest, but then realized. This was not repayment predicated on some Winchestrian system of debts and honor. Charles wanted him gone from his sight. Well, he’d wanted out for two years; he would take the discharge if Charles could swing it. If not, he’d ask Potter to transfer him for the surgeon’s sake. 

He wanted to apologize, to say that he’d done all he could to hide his feelings. He knew they were wrong - not because the army said so or because they shared a gender, but because he didn’t fit in the other man’s world. Sure, that “beautiful” remark had slipped out, but he doubted anyone else could have kept quiet either. But even in the shower he hadn’t given one thought to his own needs because Charles was hurting and unwell. 

  
_ I thought you were a friend _ , he wanted to tell the other man.  _ At least sorta. Everybody knows I like you best. Would it hurt to like me enough to let me stick around?  _ Maybe he really was crazy, he thought then. He’d fought heart and soul for section eight since he’d hit Asia and now… he didn’t let himself think what he could feel deep down, all the way down. 

_ Now all I want is you.  _

***

Back at the 4077th, Klinger stuck to the vow he had given. When asked about their trip, Charles maintained that it had been uneventful- a waste of time since the people he had gone to teach hadn’t been there. Neither one of them said anything about poison. 

Not that the drug was far from Charles’ thoughts. He’d told Klinger he was fine… and in some ways, he was. But he’d also told Hunnicutt and Pierce he was fine after his flirtation with amphetamines … and the actual road back had been a long one. He hadn’t been  _ fully _ fine again for six weeks. 

Now… now the drug seemed to rear back up in his bloodstream like a mesa-red herd of wild horses under a maddening moon. His pulse churned. His lips paled. And things below his waistband did, indeed, work. Except now they seemed to work over-well. It was indelicate to think it, never mind  _ experience  _ it, but he sometimes woke up in the dead of night, hard as he’d been with that drug in his veins… hard as he’d been in the mouth of his friend. 

He began to diligently research (with plenty of other “cover” articles to hide his intentions from the aptly named eyes of Hawkeye Pierce) the poison that had so affected him. It was an old chemical, so there were several articles (albeit small sample sizes) - and not one of them mentioned flushing at the sight of one’s rescuer… or said rescuer’s pretty ankles. 

He kept a running list of his symptoms: euphoria (and a Winchester did  _ not  _ experience euphoria), lack of appetite, increased sentimentality, insomnia, trembling, increased arousal, sweating palms, blushing…

“Sounds like love.”

Though seated, Charles nearly jumped. “ _ What _ !?!”

“Your list.” Hunnicutt tapped the clipboard. “It sounds like love. Are we running out of malaria and tuberculosis and dysentery? Or are you just missing heart cases, Mr. Thoracic Surgeon?” 

“Not ‘tall. Unlike some people one could mention, I choose to fill my hours with scholarly pursuits rather than martini olives.” 

His frostiness served to move Hunnicutt along… but his words lingered in Winchester’s ears. Charles sat alone in the light of the office’s single lamp … and he feared that his research was concluded. 

If his physical symptoms left him in doubt, the dreams helped illuminate things. Frank Burns had once opined, idiotically, that “it’s nice to be nice to the nice.” Charles was discovering that it was lovely to dream of Klinger’s loveliness… until he awoke, anyway, guilt crashing over him like the waves that had once kept him from shore, made him fear drowning.  _ I am breathless for dreaming of you…  _ he thought, surfacing one morning. It was a fine penance for a thoracic surgeon.  _ You bloody my heart, Max. My bright one… my beautiful one.  _

But Max wasn’t his. The Corporal was just echoes in his body, longing ringing against his bones. Just the memory of the flash of his dark eyes, the memory of his musical voice that he could hear throughout the day… but could not hear in his bunk at night, saying his name.  _ I made you say my name… I needed it, Max. I should have known, in that moment, what you had come to mean. I should have felt it from the first.  _

In his dreams, he felt everything. The setting shifted, though. It became his bedroom in Beacon Hill, or discreet hotels he had known as a student in medical school. And he wasn’t hurt or sick or frightened. He wasn’t even  _ hesitant _ . 

Embarrassed as he would have been to admit it, Charles took to staying in bed longer just to hold onto his dreams in ways that he couldn’t hold onto the wasp-waisted waif who inspired them … or so he thought. 

Three weeks after their misadventures in the mountains, Klinger swept into the Swamp like a Disney heroine - long lashes, bright colors, flowers in his hair - and dragged Charles to his feet. 

“Everything okay, Klinger?”

“Uh-huh. Just need to borrow the Major.”

“Something you can’t reach?” Hawk guessed, teasing. 

“Something like.” 

All Charles could feel were the warm fingers hooked in his belt loop, tugging him on. He didn’t really surface until they were back in Max’s tent. 

“What do you need, Corporal?” He very nearly added “darling,” wondered if he’d said it when Klinger had been inside of him, hoped he had.  _ What other possible mad scenario would allow as much? I could say it with cognac nearby… but he wouldn’t believe it… and he deserves more.  _

Like a dancer, Klinger swung in, caught his lips, kissed him deep and soft and slow, then retreated.

“Max? The hot Bibles I knew about- but stolen kisses?”

“Were you going to do it?” 

“Ah… no.” 

The Corporal took a step closer. “I don’t like ‘stolen,’ either, sir. I gave as good as I got, I think.” 

Charles’ lips were still warm. “And you, ah, wanted, that is… you would have liked me to kiss you?” 

“I waited as long as I could, Major. Seems like I hafta do everything myself around here.” But he was smiling. 

“Perhaps not everything.” 

“We’ll see. You brass are pretty useless in my experience, ‘cept the Colonel, maybe.” 

As  _ brass _ Charles often did feel useless, having no desire either to command or be commanded. But he was an excellent physician… and he’d been wanting this right down to his bones. 

“I wish you had given me a sign, beautiful. I would have brought the record player.”

Klinger gave him a questioning look. 

“Something to drown out your cries,” Charles explained, winning himself an answering sound of such pure desire, he vowed to learn to “talk dirty” on the spot. 

Then, spurred by accusations of being ornamental rather than valuable, Charles swept his new love up in his arms and lowered him onto his cot. 

“Major!”

“Still so very formal, mine own? I thought that you didn’t care for brass?”

“Just yours, sir.”

Charles had been wondering if those waves of dark hair were as soft in reality as he had been making them out to be in his fantasies. He took advantage of his position to card through them, darkness as rich as paint. “Well, Corporal darling, as an officer and a gentleman, I am yours to command.”

Klinger shook his head. “Not if it’s ‘cause you think you owe me, sir. I want you - I’m sure you kinda noticed - but not like that.”

“Oh? What do you want?”  _ Diamonds, darling? Fabrics from all across the globe? Say the word and I will secure all of the things that brighten your pretty eyes, that make you feel safe.  _

“You.” He looked down, somehow brave and shy and vulnerable all at once. “You… but head over heels in love with me.”

“Done.” 

The warmth in the Major’s beautiful voice, the certainty, made Maxwell look up. “You sure?” 

“Darling, I researched that stupid poison for days, trying to figure out what it had done to change me so.” He gave a sheepish, uncharacteristic smile. “It seems that you are, ah, far more potent in your way, and I desire no cure that would remove you from my heart or my mind. You were a wonderful caretaker and friend … I have no doubt that you will be a marvelous partner if you will consent to have me.” 

“I was just those things because I care about you so much, Charles. I didn’t… I didn’t do something to twist your arm, right? I tried to hide it, really.” 

In that moment, Charles realized that Klinger was, in his own way, as alone and as unaccustomed to being desired as he was. He took Max’s hand to reassure him, clever, callused digits disappearing into his larger grip. “You are a beautiful schemer, dear, but you won my heart not by tricks or game of chance, but by being all the things that you are… and beautiful besides. If you remember, you told me that you were aiding me on account of family and legacy.”

“I thought that’s what you wanted. I wanted  _ you _ to be happy… even if it couldn’t ever be with me.”

“Maxwell, very few people have ever wished for, let alone  _ sacrificed for _ , my happiness unselfishly. Please let me keep you that I may work toward ensuring your happiness in turn.”  _ Always and for all of the days I have left to live.  _

“A kept Corporal?” Max teased, tracing Arabic love poetry into his palm. “Big step up for an immigrant kid in a dress.”

“My,” Winchester punctuated the words with kisses between his fingers, “Beautiful. Immigrant. Who. May. Wear. Whatever. He. Or. She. Wishes.”

“Really?” 

“Of course. Make a runway of my hallways, love, a dressing room of our bedroom, but for now, while we are here, let me kiss you for hours.”

So the unlikely pair hid themselves away from the world and from the inevitability that today or tomorrow or the next day, someone would yell, “We’ve got wounded!” 

“Would you have ever told me?” Charles asked his new treasure. “If I had not fallen ill in the spectacular and foolish way that I did?” 

“Probably not. Lotsa risk, you know?”

He did. “Max, I, ah, I don’t know if I am capable of making this sound romantic, love, but you make me, ah, rather glad I was poisoned. Delighted, even.” 

Maxwell answered with a comical frown. “Won’t exactly be a story we can tell, Major. Love at first infection.”

“We will tell the truth, if called to tell anything. We met in a warzone. I fell for your flashing eyes and fashion sense and you foolishly failed to discourage my pursuit. Besides, we can always tell them the story of how I proposed.”

Snuggling against him, Klinger waited to hear just how that story would play out… but knew he was going to end up happy.

End! 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
